


Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [100]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Chickens, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Possible Character Death, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge's broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.
Relationships: Kustard, Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Series: by any other name [100]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 230
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Stretch had always liked taking a walk on the science side. Even when he was a kid, he’d loved it, digging soggy books out of the dump that no one else wanted about exotic things like physics. Yeah, sure, he’d taken a detour for a little while in his life, spent some time as a sentry in Snowdin, but here in the Aboveground, he’d gotten back into it, reluctantly at first and then with the same enthusiasm he’d had in his striped shirt days. He loved science and experiments, coming up with theories and either proving them or setting them in the ‘learning experience’ pile.

Confirming a hypothesis, that was what he did, but even he had to admit, this was one he could've lived without. But hey, now he had empirical evidence to explain why he was never double-dog-dare ever taking Edge on the bus again. 

It hadn't even been his idea. Everyone with a driver’s license was busy today so there was no one to cadge a ride from. Didn’t help that Edge wasn’t exactly great on the passenger side anyway, he took backseat driving to new and historic levels. Even Andy started getting a weird tic in his cheek the last time he gave them a lift and in the interest of not giving his best bud a stroke, when Edge suggested they take the bus to his doc’s appointment, Stretch went along with it. 

Yeeeah. He’d made worse choices in his life, but this was hovering right at entering the top ten. 

To begin with, it seemed like that when he made the suggestion, Edge didn’t fully realize it would require sitting on a grubby seat inhabited daily by dozens of other butts, something Stretch’s personal neat freak was not keen on exposing to his own pelvis.

But there was no way he could stand with the cast holding his leg together, that was kinda the reason they weren’t taking Edge’s car. Probably the only thing that could make the seats actually tolerable for Edge was a good power washing, but Stretch did the best he could with the baggie of antiseptic wipes he’d stashed in his backpack. That at least got Edge's nonexistent butt in the chair, even if he sat so close to the (heh) edge that one hairpin turn was gonna send him rolling across the floor. 

If the universe were kinder, that probably would have been the worst of it. Stretch sat right next to his baby and held his hand for moral support, the bus route took them right past the hospital so there wasn't even a changeover. All they needed to do was sit quietly and get off at their stop. Stretch did it all the time, all by his lonesome. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. 

Only, fate seemed to be in the mood for a different kind of citrus, choosing the path of difficult difficult lemon bullshit because they’d only been sitting for about five minutes when an older Human lady got on. She shuffled on over to sit right next to Edge even though there were a dozen other seats available on the bus and before the bus even pulled away, she’d started talking to him. And talked. And never actually stopped talking.

Blue once told Stretch, fondly and with only a sprinkle of salt, that when Stretch got going, he talked like he was trying to qualify for the chatter Olympics. This lady not only qualified, she’d swept away the competition and gone home with the gold. 

To be fair, it was miles better than her screaming and tossing a shoe at their heads, sure, but Edge usually took a while to warm up to people as it was, especially to Humans. Considering that some Humans took one look at Edge coming their way and crossed the street? That kind didn't look at him as a person with feelings who could see them, thanks, even if Edge would never admit how much that fucking hurt, and sorry, did he say Humans? He meant assholes. Assholes saw Edge as a threat before they ever even met him.

Betty White over there wasn't at all put off by the sharp teeth and the crimson eye lights. She'd found a captive audience and watching his baby struggling to be polite while she chatted about her newest grandbaby, complete with actual photos scrounged out of her handbag, was setting off the cringe meter, big time. 

About ten endless minutes in she’d shown no sign of losing steam. Stretch did make an attempt to help. His thinking was that if he moved to sit on Grandma Moses's other side, maybe she'd chat with him instead. He was pretty good at oohing and ahhing over pics of the potato babies. But the second he tried to stand, Edge's hold on his hand tightened like an iron claw, hard enough for him to feel the pinch of his sharpened fingertips even through gloves. Whether he was afraid Stretch was going to abandon him to his fate or didn't like the idea of him sitting next to unknown Humans, Stretch wasn't sure, but he wasn’t gonna argue with The Claw. 

He sat back down and leaned against Edge instead, like maybe he could osmosis some soothing vibes his way. Never worked before, but hey, it was worth a shot. 

Whistler’s Mom paused. “are you two boys…together?”

“Yes,” Edge said shortly. Stretch struggled not to wince as the grip on his hand dug in. The last thing he wanted was another bus fiasco. For starters, Andy wasn’t here this time to play white knight and he seriously doubted the Embassy would appreciate dealing with an all new public relations nightmare involving Edge getting into a street fight with an octogenarian. 

So, Stretch put on his very best hundred-watt smile and leaned around his husband to shine it towards the old lady. “yes, ma’am, we’re married.”

He expected maybe a little outrage; he and Edge pretty obviously identified as male and Humans could be, ah, tetchy about that. Enough offense and maybe she’d go move to sit up at the front of the bus. But Queen Elizabeth over there just beamed happily, clasping her hands to her chest. “Isn’t that nice! You two make a lovely couple, aren’t your rings beautiful! Have you been together long? Ah, you’re newlyweds, aren’t you, I can tell!”

Next to him, the tension was slowly draining out of Edge, his kung fu grip loosening. Stretch lowered the wattage on his smile to merely friendly levels and asked, “how’s that, ma’am?”

She gave them a watery-eyed wink, “To begin with, you’re still holding hands.”

That was about all it took to tenderize Edge’s steak. He still didn’t chat, but he didn’t look like he was about to throw himself out of a window at any given moment, piece by piece if necessary, and that was a hell of an improvement. 

By the time they’d gotten off the bus, Beatrice had shared a recipe for strudel that Edge promised to try and Stretch somehow ended up wearing a new knitted hat topped with a bright pink pompom, because in the words of the immortal Beatrice, he was too skinny and he might catch cold in the bright spring weather. He had a feeling if she could’ve smuggled him home in her handbag, he’d be holed up right now in a cozy kitchen mainlining soup made with fresh noodles and no amount of protesting that skeletons kinda couldn’t get fattened up would save him. 

“see, babe,” Stretch teased, handing over his crutches once Edge made it down the stairs back to earth. He waited until the bus was out of sight, taking Beatrice with it, before taking off the hat and adding it to his backpack stash. “take the bus a few more times and pretty soon you’ll have as many friends as i do.”

“I’d rather strip naked and run a marathon through a pack of hungry dogs,” Edge told him feelingly. 

Yeah, okay, that one made Stretch burst out into unexpected laughter. He was still chuckling as they headed into the doctor’s office. “i swear, babe, no one ever believes me when i tell them you’re hilarious.”

“That wasn’t humor,” Edge said dryly as he crutched along, “that was a promise.”

The appointment itself was the usual doctor bullshit, starting with an endless fifteen-minute wait before the doc even came in the room, long enough for Stretch to inspect every drawer and jar in the room before Edge told him to sit down. Which, yeah, okay, it was his appointment and fidgeting around the room probably wasn’t doing much for any anxiety Edge had. 

Not that he looked like he had much and Stretch honestly envied Edge’s ability to seem coolly serene in any given situation. It was less appealing that the skill made it impossible for Stretch to know if he was genuinely relaxed or hiding it from the world, but eh, that much he was used to. He could read his baby like a well-loved book, but damn if the cover wasn’t inscrutable some days.

By the time the doc came in, Stretch was ready to vibrate out of his damn shoes, but he kept his trap shut and let the doctor do his job. Highly trained professionals, he’d told Edge, who knew what they were doing, and Stretch could do healing magic but that was his limit. The fine tuning was up to the guys with the stethoscopes. 

So he played on his phone, messed around on twitter, kept one suspicious auditory canal tuned in to make sure that the doc didn’t have any strong opinions on how Edge was healing up. In less time than they’d spent waiting, the cast was removed, cut right through the drawing of Undyne flexing, and the doc was checking the bones out, making positive little sounds as he poked and prodded. 

That got his reluctant curiosity going and left him torn between getting a look at what he hadn’t yet seen or waiting a little longer for the scars to fade. 

He hadn’t chosen a side by the time Edge decided for him, “It’s fine, love, have a look if you want.”

The doc obligingly stepped back and let him take a peek at what the cast was hiding. Even if the freshly healed breaks weren’t still chalky-rough, he would have been able to pick them out of a line up. He knew every scar on Edge’s bones, knew how they felt beneath his fingers, knew which ones were sensitive and which had little feeling to them at all. 

Edge was right, they weren’t bad, all things considered. Tori must’ve poured on the healing because the scars weren’t much more than hairline fractures. A lot of hairline fractures, too many, and Stretch blinked hard, turning away to flump back into his chair. Way too many fucking scars, his leg must’ve been…it must’ve…

He probably wasn’t hiding his upset very well, his poker face wasn’t up to standards these days, because the doctor said, gently, “He’s healing very well. A few more weeks and he should be able to resume his normal routine.”

They both seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer from him, so Stretch slumped back into his chair and muttered, “that’s good.” 

He pulled out his lighter, flicking it absently through his fingers, listening to the rhythmic clicking of metal against bone as the doc stepped up again. 

Pretty quickly Edge was Velcro-ed into a sort of boot that went up to his knee and sternly told not to stand more than two hours at a time, ice it at night, yadda yadda, it was all on the instruction sheet. He went from crutches to a cane and they’d be sending him one of those knee scooters for when he went back to the Embassy. That was a photo opportunity waiting to happen. 

The ride home was a lot less eventful. The only other person on the bus for most of the trip was a Human that Stretch only knew in passing and they were eating a sandwich so aggressively that Stretch was afraid to get too close, lest he get sucked into the chomping vacuum. 

Edge didn’t talk and Stretch kept busy on his phone, ignoring the quiet of the bus around them. Stretch usually wore headphones when he rode the bus, he had about fifty different podcasts he listened to and Cabinet of Curiosities just released a new one today. He didn’t feel like listening right now though and if anyone told him an hour ago he’d be missing Beatrice’s chatter, he’d have told them to retune their Ouija board. 

The only real transfer was from the bus proper to the New New Home shuttle and they were the only Monsters on it except for the driver. 

“hey, angela, you know why you’re the best driver?” Stretch asked cheerfully when they got to the stop. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “it’s ‘cause you’re so good at telling people where to get off!”

Angela rolled her eye, “Sans told me that one last week.”

“of course he would,” Stretch sighed, “sans is never short for time when it comes to a joke.” That one got him a chuckle from Angela and a sigh from Edge as she shooed them out the doors. Before he could take so much as a step towards home, Edge had him by the arm, tugging him over to sit on the nearby bench. 

“wha…you okay?” Stretch blurted. The anxiety that was slowly easing ramped it back up to high. As far as he saw, Edge was walking pretty well with his new gear, but maybe— “is it hurting, do you need to rest a minute? i can call the doc, hang on…”

Edge gently stopped him from scrambling for his phone, shaking his head. “I’m fine, love. I’m more concerned about whether you’re okay.”

It would’ve been easy to tell him yep, sure, 100%, doing great. Dig up another 100-watt smile out of his reserves in a lie that Edge wouldn’t believe. Instead, he slumped, leaning against Edge’s side and letting his skull drop on his shoulder. “can’t fool you, huh.”

“I don’t want you to fool me,” Edge told him. He reached up, his gloved fingers gentle against Stretch’s cheek bone, his jaw line. “I want to know when you’re upset. Even if I can’t really help, I at least want to know.”

Stretch sighed heavily. “i’m okay. no, really,” he insisted when Edge made a skeptical sound. “i’m just…i don’t like to see you hurt.”

Edge shifted and there was the light touch of a kiss being pressed to his skull. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t really like _being_ hurt. I’ve been injured in the past, you know that, but this is my first experience at being off my feet for so long and I hate it,” Edge said, frankly. “I don’t like not being able to go through my normal routine, whether it’s my work at the Embassy or simply baking bread, I don’t like being—” he hesitated, then, softer, “vulnerable. I don’t like feeling as if I can’t keep you safe.”

The last was said at a mere whisper, a confession Stretch hadn’t expected, and he sat up, wrapping both arms around Edge and held him tight. They sat like that for a while, arms around each other with spring sunshine pouring down over them and Stretch loved him, so, so damn much. 

He could hear someone walking up the street, probably heading to wait for the shuttle, and Stretch reluctantly drew back, pausing to press a light kiss against Edge’s cheek bone. “welp, you’re a couple steps further along in getting back on your feet, anyway. what’re you gonna do first?”

He was kinda expecting a shower. Edge never complained but it was hard not to notice that he didn’t enjoy wrapping up in plastic like last night’s leftovers. But Edge was packed with the unexpected today so Stretch was a little surprised when he said, “I’d like to work on my garden. Spring planting isn’t for a little while yet, but my perennials will be coming up and I need to clean out the winter detritus.”

Yeah, okay, that sort of made sense. May as well get as dirty as possible before hitting the suds. They made their way back to the house, a little slower than Stretch’s preferred pace but not by much. Stretch went in the house and aside from Edge taking him on a quick field trip outside for an informational lecture on the different flowers that were already starting to spring out of the ground, he left his honey to get to the gardening. And if he was keeping an eye on the clock to make sure Edge didn’t go over the two-hour mark, eh, Edge said from the start he was going to follow the doctor’s orders. Stretch was only helping him keep a promise.

It was closing in on an hour-fifty when the unexpected knock came from the front door. That had Stretch curious; Edge was in the front yard, any visitors would be bypassing him, so who would be coming specifically to see Stretch?

Welp. There was only one way to find out.

* * *

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

If Stretch had to make a top ten list of people that he expected to find at his front door on any given day, Papyrus _would_ be on it, but Stretch had to guiltily admit, he would have been close to the bottom of the list, just below the mailperson. 

It wasn't that Stretch didn't like Papyrus, he really did, but somehow, their paths didn't cross that often. Papyrus did a lot of work up at the Embassy and spent time training with Undyne and the rest of the security team. He had his own group down at the Y like Edge did of younger kids and every year they did a nature hike out in the wilds of Ebott, down the walking path that ran behind the shopping center. 

Papyrus had his own gig going on and that was fine, but it did mean they mostly saw each other on movie nights and holidays. Kinda like cousins, maybe, not that Stretch ever had any. Not exactly close family, but family, nonetheless. 

Now, finding Papyrus AND Jeff on his porch? Both of them with their arms loaded with plastic food containers and cups from the Beanery that looked to be filled with gloriously caffeinated concoctions? That wasn’t anywhere on Stretch’s top ten list or even in the top fifty. That was one that might’ve wandered onto an alternate list in the AM hours when Stretch couldn’t sleep, but even then, the odds weren’t good.

Papyrus’s grin of maniacal cheer, though, that was to be expected. It was the same one Blue got going when he had a scheme up his pant leg and that made warnings prickles stand up and do the cha-cha-cha on Stretch’s spine. 

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, “what’s going on?”

“What is going on is we are here to see you!” Papyrus said cheerily. He shifted the boxes in his arms. “We can continue going by you letting us inside!”

“I mean, you can leave us on the porch if you want,” Jeff’s grin was less maniacal, at least. Honestly, he looked tired and also like he wasn’t about to let that slow him down. “We’ll just stand here, alone, sad and pining for the fjords, wasting away—”

“yeah, yeah, i get it,” Stretch grinned and held open the door. “come in before the neighbors get interested. they already think we’re better than netflix.”

Papyrus and Jeff trooped inside, and Stretch took a second to peek out the front door. Edge was still working diligently on his flowerbeds, so that was fine. He saw Stretch looking and blew him a kiss and maybe catching it was pretend, but the warmth in his soul from it was plenty real. 

Didn’t mean Stretch missed that his loving traitor didn’t come inside, though. 

By the time he closed the front door, Jeff and Papyrus had taken over the coffee table. There were several plastic containers alongside the drink cups and okay, yeah, Stretch was curious to see what largess had been brought to them. Hopefully not too much, with his cast off and permission to stand, Edge was probably itching to get back into the kitchen. He’d graciously accept anything the guys brought over, probably, and then he’d be stuck between his urgent need to make food for everyone in sight and his need not to waste any morsel that came into the house. It was a bit of a balancing act and Edge was already wobbly on his feet.

Stretch wandered over to give one of the containers a poke. “i hadn't heard the hospital cut you loose yet, paps." 

“Just yesterday!” Papyrus beamed and now Stretch could see he had a cane of his own, exactly the same as Edge’s but he was currently using it more as punctuation than for support. 

Released yesterday and Stretch hadn’t even known. He could have, _should_ have. He’d just seen Sans a couple days go and he’d asked about Red, but not his brother who was still in the fucking hospital. And what, he could send tweets out to his fans but not a text to Papyrus to see how he was feeling? Stretch swallowed hard against the rising thickness in the back of his throat. “listen, i'm sorry i didn't get up to see you at the hospital much.” 

Papyrus being Papyrus, only waved that off. “Not at all! Everyone is very busy right now.”

“Yeah,” Jeff put in and there was a wealth of meaning in that single word that probably synced up to the shadows under his eyes. “I barely got up there to see you and Edge, too.”

“Besides,” Papyrus went on, “You had your own patient to handle in what I am sure was an experience that left you stronger!”

“heh, that’s one way of putting it. how’s the noggin?” The bandages that were wrapped around Papyrus’s head in the hospital were gone and all the bruising faded. The dark line of a hairline crack was still running along his parietal bone. At this point it was probably here to stay, healing magic wasn’t much good on scars, otherwise Stretch would have gotten to work on Edge’s a long time ago. 

Papyrus mimed rapping on his skull with his knuckles. “Better. I am still on sick leave even though I am injured, not sick. But I am not falling down as much now so they let me go home!”

The phrase falling down had implications that made Stretch shudder, even though he knew that wasn’t what Papyrus meant. Especially after today, seeing Edge’s healing leg, all his new scars, hairline fractures, all of them, but they were still there. 

Okay, yeah, a subject change seemed to be a good idea. 

Stretch picked up one of the containers and gave it a little shake. “so what brings you over to see me. not that i don’t want to see you guys, but…” He gestured at the rest of the containers. “i’m seeing a plan here.”

“Yes!” Papyrus said happily. “I brought something for your chickens!"

Huh. Today was definitely going off the charts, because that option wasn’t on any of Stretch’s top ten lists. “seriously?"

Papyrus obviously had his own standards when it came to lists, because he nodded as if it were obvious. “Yes! You see, usually when you are sick or injured in the hospital because of germs or stupidity—"

“hey!”

“--i have cared for your chickens for you! this time i was in the hospital and so i brought them spaghetti!”

Impeccable logic, really. Except for one small detail. 

Paps was a much better cook these days but pasta still tended to elude him. Even the mention of spaghetti still gave Stretch shuddering flashbacks of those first few weeks when they came to this universe. It’d almost been enough for him to wish they were back in Underswap. 

Almost. 

All the other dishes Papyrus made were more than palatable, even delicious, except for when he dug out the noodles. Much as he didn’t want to hurt any feelings, neither did Stretch want to murder his chickens by poison pasta. “um that's really nice, but, uh.”

Whatever Papyrus thought he was going to say, if there were any hurt feelings about it, he shed it like water off a duck’s back, “Have no fear! It is vegetable spaghetti!"

“Spiral cut veggies," Jeff put in. He pried off one of the lids and held it out, revealing bright orange and purple strands. His grin was a little wry; Jeff was another victim of Papyrus’s attempts at carbonara. “We made it fresh this morning.”

Oh. They’d made it, together. For the teeniest, tiniest moment there was a twinge of stupid jealousy, bitter sharp in his soul, because Jeff was supposed to be his best friend and here was Papyrus poaching on his territory when he already had lots of friends, in a couple different countries even, pen pals and people at the Embassy, why did he need one of Stretch’s?

Then he squashed that thought like the stink bug it was; there was plenty of Andy to go around and he wasn’t about to end his week by being a dick to his best friends over veggie noodles. 

So hey, time to unwrap the enthusiasm and get this chicken party started. Stretch pasted his smile back on and said, “well hey, let’s go out back! i bet they’ll be _scrambling_ for it.”

Papyrus didn’t even groan at the pun, though Jeff booed under his breath. His smile brought new meaning to the word beaming, it really did, bright as the sun. “Let me get some plates!”

He caned his way into the kitchen before Stretch could even offer to do it for him and yeah, there was one of the ways he and Edge were alike, stubborn little shits that they were. 

Stretch shook his head and turned back to Jeff to ask, softly, “how is he doing, really?”

“He’s been fine today, but he should probably sit down for a while,” Jeff said in the same quiet tone. “I had him sitting at home when we were using the spiral slicer and he was pretty good about it. Don’t let him fool you, though, the doctors told him to take it easy—”

“—and he’s not really good at following their instructions,” Stretch finished with a sigh. “yeah, i’ve had some practice with that.”

“I’ll bet,” Jeff laughed just as Papyrus returned, plates in hand. Stretch kept back any comments about what Edge might have to say about them using his plates to feed chickens. Hey, they were family, they could use the good tableware. 

“I’ll bet, too,” Papyrus said, “if you two are finished talking about me behind my back! Unless you want to do it in front of my face as well.”

Yeah, there were definitely times Stretch could tell Papyrus and Edge were cut from the same cloth. Although if he ever saw Edge smiling like Papyrus did, Stretch would be checking for any other signs of the apocalypse. “nah, i think we’re good. let’s head out.”

“Oh, and we brought you—” Jeff plucked one of the plastic cups from the table and held it out with a flourish. “triple venti, iced caramel macchiato with whip and an extra shot.”

Now that was a drink and Stretch took the cup, clutching it to his chest without even caring for the condensation dampening the front of his sweatshirt.

“you are the second-best person in the world,” Stretch told him sincerely, “if i wasn’t already married to the first best, i’d be polishing up my flirting skills for you.”

Jeff only rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay, I’ll add you to my dance card, Mr. Darcy.”

“The dating manual has a chapter on polygamous relationships if you’d like to borrow it!” Papyrus said brightly. 

Immediately, Jeff’s pale cheeks flamed a bright red and Stretch felt a blush of his own warm his face. Uh, yeah, no, his love for Andy stayed above the waist, thanks. Now he was glad Edge hadn’t come inside, he’d either be annoyed or silently laughing his ass off. Either way, Stretch could live without it.

He clapped a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, “you know what, paps, i think we’re good, but i’ll keep it in mind. c’mon, it’s a nice day and the ladies await!”

“Of course!” Papyrus followed Stretch to the back door while Jeff gathered up the containers. “Did Edge redecorate the kitchen? I seem to recall a lot less red paint splattered on the walls and also a table the last time I was here…”

* * *

A few days ago, Stretch spent a couple hours cleaning off all the chairs on the patio from any winter gunk left on them. He’d done it for Edge so he could come outside while he was still off limits on any marathons, just a quick scrub down and some sunshine and they were good. 

Now he wondered why he bothered because so far, every time anyone came out to the backyard, they ended up sitting on the damned ground. At least they grabbed the cushions off the chairs to keep the damp away. The chickens were gabbling eagerly from the moment the sliding glass door opened and the volume doubled when they realized it was more than the usual amount of suckers to demand scritches from. 

Stretch let loose the chicks and Papyrus laid down the plates, already scolding, “Now hold on a moment, there’s more than one flavor! You’ll need a serving of each for the full decadent experience!”

Soon enough the grub was out and they were all sitting on their cushions, watching the chickens feast. 

“gotta say, this was a pretty good idea,” Stretch admitted. Pretty good was understating it, the chickens loved the veggie spaghetti and they were gobbling it down, switching plates at will as they scarfed it as fast as they could. Noodle let out an indignant squawk when Nugget stole a tasty looking tidbit from under her beak and ended up on the other end of a strand with Dumpling in an impromptu Lady and the Tramp recreation that ended a lot less romantically when Nugget stole a bite right through the center. 

“Of course it was!” Papyrus said loftily. Then he surprised Stretch by adding, “JeffAndy suggested it.”

Stretch raised a brow bone and Jeff shrugged, awkwardly, “Julia used to make veggie spaghetti all the time and Blue had a spiral cutter, so.”

“i haven’t seen blue for a few days.” Stretch fumbled into his hoodie pocket for his lighter, the metal smooth and cool under his fingertips. “how’s he doing?”

“Good. Busy, like all of us,” Jeff said. He took a drink from his cup and it left a slight whipped cream mustache on his upper lip that he licked away. “Think everyone will be glad when Edge is back full time.”

“yeah.” The lighter flicking through his fingers wasn’t enough suddenly and Stretch pulled out a pack of cigarettes to go with it at the same time he nudged Papyrus with an elbow. “and how’s your bro doing?”

“Very well!” Papyrus plucked up a far-flung piece of spaghetti and tossed it back towards the chickens. Dumpling all but snapped it out of the air. “He’s packing as we speak!”

“packing?” That was about the last thing Stretch expected to ever hear about Sans. He and Papyrus were the only brother pair still living together and Stretch would have put good odds on that only changing if Papyrus moved out, and even then, Sans might try to crawl into one of the suitcases. Sans packing up was serious levels of gossip that he was missing out on. 

Papyrus nodded. “Yes! Now that he and Red are betrothed, he is moving in! He didn’t want to leave at first, but I told him I would have someone stay with me until I am fully recovered!” 

Betrothed was a weird way to describe that relationship and Sans actually moving in? Made Stretch wonder what’d happened that day when Sans carried Red out of the kitchen, not that he’d wanted to be a fly on the wall or anything. Maybe Red liked to play the spy guy, but Stretch had enough nightmares as it was. If he ever had to hear Red in throes of orgasm, he’d scrub the inside of his skull with a toilet brush.

“not undyne.” He couldn’t imagine her staying away from Alphys, especially not while she had a bun cooking in the oven. 

“No, no, your brother!”

Stretch was in the middle of lighting his cigarette and sucked in too hard, coughing the smoke back out. His brother was staying with Papyrus? When did that happen? He was starting to feel more and more like Dorothy when she first stepped off the tornado.

“okay, hang on,” Stretch rubbed a knuckle between his sockets where an ache was starting to form. “can i get a timeline on this?”

“Of course!” Papyrus ticked off on his fingers. “First, Red gave Sans a betrothal collar.”

That choker he’d been wearing, with the heart-shaped buckle. Not at all the sort of thing he’d expected to be Sans’s taste, it’d been cute when Sans was more, ‘wear whatever fell on me today’. “is that what that was?”

“Oh, yes, Red told me that collars hold great significance in Underfell!”

“did he now?” Stretch said softly. Nope, that didn’t sting, not one little bit. His soul wasn’t at all lurching in his chest, rising up to settle painfully under his clavicles.

“Very much so! A betrothal collar is a promise and a warning.” Papyrus leaned in, his voice lowered conspiratorially to a level just below a shout. “More people probably need warnings about Sans.”

“you’re probably right.” Honestly, he should probably be wearing a sign.

“So he got his collar and told me. Then I told him he needed to move in with his fiancée and he said, ‘whoa, bro, don’t know about that you’re still pretty banged up and all.'”

Stretch couldn’t help grinning. He had to admit, that impression of Sans was pretty bang on.

“and I told him I would find someone else to stay with me and I asked your brother and he agreed!” Papyrus finished triumphantly.

He glanced at Jeff, who’d moved his cushion to be downwind of the cigarette smoke. “what about andy, thought you and blue were playing roommates.”

“I’m moving in with Antwan,” Jeff admitted shyly. He toyed with the laces on his shoes. “I mean, for now anyway.”

Normally, Stretch would have been squealing to hear that because hello, about fucking time. But from the sounds of it, if he wasn’t the last to know about all this, he was pretty damn close. “this all happened in the past couple days?”

Papyrus glanced at him. “If we are measuring by linear time, then yes.”

“always did prefer linear. helps to keep things straight. hey, congrats, andy,” Stretch said belatedly. Really belated, seemed like if this news was days old. 

“Don’t congratulate me yet, Antwan hasn’t had to move my comic book collection,” Jeff laughed. But from his pink, pleased face he was pretty excited and why shouldn’t he be, he was moving in with his guy, Blue was moving in with Papyrus, Sans moving in with Red. All kinds of stuff going on that no one gave Stretch a call or text about it. Not that he blamed them, not really. He wasn’t being much of a good big brother lately or cousin or friend or whatever else the fuck he pretended he could do. Made him wonder how he was doing as a husband, since he was so shit at everything else. 

The chickens were done mangling every speck of the spaghetti and Nugget wandered over to peck at the string on Stretch’s hoodie hopefully. It hadn’t turned into food for her the other hundred times she’d tried it, but that never stopped her before, especially since now it looked like her last treat. Stretch crushed out his cigarette and gave her a hopeful nudge, and she settled into his lap amicably, clucking happily as he smoothed a hand down her feathers. 

Noodle was taking refuge in Papyrus’s lap, crooning for her own pets that Papyrus obediently provided. “Your chickens are very nice.”

“We’re lucky Edge isn’t here,” Jeff chuckled even as he coaxed Dumpling over for scritches of her own. “They think he’s the next coming of Chicken Jesus.”

Papyrus frowned. “I wouldn’t think that chickens followed Christian theology.”

It was always hard to tell when Papyrus was sincere or when he was fucking with you, and Stretch had a feeling he was being bent over today. “nah, these ladies are nondenominational.”

“If one must have a harem, one of chickens seems a good choice!” Papyrus said thoughtfully. “There are the eggs to consider.”

“a harem, why would---never mind.” Stretch decided he really didn’t want to know which way Papyrus’s brain was twisting today, he had enough of that with his own.

“By the way,” Jeff said as he struggled to keep Dumpling from attacking his shoelaces, “now that Edge is feeling better, I should probably tell you that your brother’s freezer is filled with bags of grapes.”

“grap..oh.” The grapes from Edge’s garden that he’d been picking when…well. When everything. He’d honestly forgotten all about them, that whole day was pretty much a suckhole of shit that he didn’t care to ever repeat. Even thinking that made Stretch feel a little queasy, knocking him even more off balance while he was trying to catch his equilibrium. Stretch let out a little laugh and if it sounded a little shrill, neither Jeff nor Papyrus noticed. “you froze them, really? when did you even have the time?”

Jeff shrugged, which meant it was probably after work, maybe even at the end of that long, horrible day, and he’d been exhausted and done it anyway. He really was a good friend, better than Stretch deserved. 

“i’ll let him know.” Stretch rubbed Nugget gently under the chin and she cooed happily. “and hey, thanks for stopping by with the spaghetti for my girls and letting me knows what’s up with the nearby world.”

“Wish I could say it was my idea,” Jeff said. His smile was a little lopsided. “I’ve missed hanging out. With everything that’s going on, Papyrus thought maybe you were feeling a little out of the loop. He said not being at work makes him think it’s Sunday when it’s Wednesday.”

“yeah, he’s got a good point.”

“I usually do,” Papyrus said modestly.

The sliding glass door opened then, and Edge stepped out. Immediately the chickens abandoned all laps and ran to him, and usually Stretch thought that was cute as fuck, but today, it was an extra scoop of abandonment on top of his cone of salty guilt. 

Edge crouched and gave each of them a quick pat, “Hello, everyone. I only wanted to check if you two are staying for dinner.”

“No,” Papyrus said, somehow managing to look sad and elated at the same time. “Blue is planning a welcome to my home dinner for me tonight!”

“I can’t either, Antwan and I haven’t done anything but sleep in the same bed for the past week. We’re planning take out and time together.” Jeff scrambled to his feet with a groan, stretching, “We need to get going, anyway.” 

Edge nodded, like none of this was news to him. Maybe it wasn’t, Stretch really was the last to know everything. Even about betrothal collars and Stretch twisted the ring on his finger, feeling the delicate swirls etched into it with the tips of his fingers. The metal wasn’t cool like his lighter, warmed by his own bones.

It only took a couple of minutes for Jeff and Papyrus to gather up the empty containers, and Stretch got the plates, setting them next to him on the ground. 

“see you guys later!” Stretch called as they went through the gate. He got waves in return and then they were gone.

Edge sat down on the cushion next to him, stretching out his leg brace in front of him as he nudged it closer than Papyrus had. Close enough for him to settle his own hand over Stretch’s and he couldn’t help wondering if that was to keep him from reaching for his cigarettes again. He was supposed to be quitting and that’d fallen to the wayside at some point, supposed to be seeing Alphys about his HP, when was the last time he’d done that? So many fucking questions today and Stretch wasn’t sure about some of the answers. 

“Just you and me tonight then, love,” Edge said. His thumb grazed lightly across Stretch’s knuckles and he noted absently that he’d changed his gloves. These ones were worn soft, comfort gloves, like some of Stretch’s sweatshirts, and he didn’t know why Edge needed comforting.

“yeah, just you and me,” Stretch agreed softly, and when had that become less of a delight.

He really was losing his touch because Edge gave him a narrow look almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“nothing,” Stretch said, and he forced lightness into the word, “think i’m just a little tired, we had a lot going on today.”

Edge hummed softly in agreement, “Why don’t you take a nap?”

“take one with me?” Stretch offered and he knew from the split-second of hesitation on Edge’s face that he wanted to say no. Which, of course he fucking did, he just got his cast off, he was probably wanting a shower or maybe even a bath, give those newly scarred bones a good scrub before he went to do all the other shit he couldn’t do last week. “you know what, never mind.”

“Are you sure?” Edge asked, because of course he did. He always put Stretch’s happiness first. Like it was something Stretch actually deserved and that was a shitty thing to think and Stretch knew it, so he was stopping that right now.

“yep,” Stretch forced a yawn. “if it’s just me i can sprawl out.”

“Me being in the bed has never stopped you before,” Edge said dryly. But he lifted Stretch’s hand and kissed his knuckles, right over his wedding ring, the one Edge gave him when he promised to love and cherish him, and Stretch was gonna knock it the fuck off thinking about anything with collars or Underfell. Edge loved him and he knew it, he didn’t need anything else. 

Not a damn thing.

* * *

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, before you read this, I'd like to remind everyone that this is By Any Other Name, and no matter what angst happens, there will always be happy endings. 
> 
> So, keep telling yourself, happy endings are coming, happy endings are coming, and you'll be fine! Things are not always what they seem!

* * *

Though they’d only been married a year, he and Stretch had been together long enough that Edge knew many of his quirks. He knew that Stretch could nap anywhere and everywhere and often did. He knew that one of his favorite treats was lemon bars and he wasn’t fussy about where they came from. He knew that Stretch could be scatterbrained and also single-mindedly focused, sometimes in the very same moment. And he knew that the correct reply from Stretch to the question of what was wrong was never ‘nothing’. 

A pun, certainly, a joke, perhaps, even on rare occasions honesty. 'Nothing' was a charade, a lie, offered flippantly to disguise the truth.

More to the point, Edge knew that there was no point in pressing for a better answer. That would only make Stretch double down and he’d be even less likely to admit to what was bothering him. It was a difficult lesson and one he’d learned from his own brother, long before they’d ever left Underfell. Demanding answers achieved nothing and all he could do was wait.

And so, when Stretch stood to head inside for his nap, Edge returned the kiss he leaned down to offer and let him go. Kept his sighs and his worries to himself as he struggled up to his feet, grimacing at the renewed ache in his tibia.

For now, the plan was to take a quick shower before he put his leg up and iced it to keep the cartilage from swelling. There was no question that the doctor’s orders of a limit of two hours standing was accurate; he hadn’t even been standing the entire time, but moving from garden plot to garden plot seemed to be enough exercise for the day. After some rest, the only plan he had left was to make dinner. 

Slow and steady seemed to be the theme for the day. For his leg, for Stretch. 

Edge gathered up the dirty plates and tried not to think about the travesties that had been visited upon them as he shooed the chickens back into the coop. If Stretch still wasn’t inclined to talk this evening, perhaps tomorrow he’d message Jeff and ask if he’d noticed anything off about Stretch while they were talking. With everything happening lately, it wouldn’t be a surprise if Stretch were heading towards a major depressive episode; in fact, Edge would admit that it must be a sign that his medication and therapy were working for him that he hadn’t had one already. 

His shower was brief, but blissful and Edge basked in the spray of hot water until his leg began a new set of throbbing warnings. Then he went back downstairs, propping it into the pile of pillows that were becoming a fixture in their living room, along with the ice packs. 

It was strange, now, to think that if someone with no one to care for them took an injury like this in Underfell, it would most likely be a death sentence. Even with Sans—Red to care for him, Edge likely would have been on his feet far sooner than would be considered wise, walking his disability to permanence. There were no clean, friendly hospitals, no doctors with their years of experience and training, as Stretch liked to say. No special splints or even casts. The only thing driving him to walking too soon in this world was his own impatience. He needed to be on his feet, yes, but he needed to be able to stay on his feet, not sabotage his own healing driving himself too hard. 

Intellectually, he knew that, but knowing didn’t have much effect on the gnawing exasperation in his soul, urging him to get back to work, to protect his people from the threats he knew were still out there.

Soon, he told himself. In two days’ time he’d be back working fulltime at the Embassy and wasn’t he looking forward to rolling through the hallways on the mobility scooter the doctor was sending to him. Perhaps that sight would help cheer Stretch. Two days wasn’t very long to figure out what was bothering his husband, especially considering all that had happened, but Edge was nothing if not dedicated to Stretch’s happiness. 

That task only seemed more monumental when Stretch came downstairs. He only stayed upstairs for perhaps an hour and did not seem rested when he came back down, shadows darkened beneath his sockets. He was quiet for most of the night, except for infrequent bursts of chatter, all of it puns and teasing, his smile a touch too wide, his cheer bordering on desperate. Trying too hard, Edge knew, and his soul ached. 

That night, Edge went to bed early and Stretch didn’t question his excuse that he was tired after such an eventful day. The claim was doubly useful in that Stretch didn’t attempt anything seductive once they were in bed together. Knowing him, he’d try to instigate sex to prove to himself that he was fine, and even if it was pleasurable, that did not sit well with Edge. He preferred their lovemaking with wholehearted enthusiasm and affection, not as an attempt to prove a point.

Instead, Stretch curled up in his arms, resting his skull over Edge’s breastbone, petting his scarred ribs softly, almost absently.

He wondered if Stretch wished he could see his soul, feel its warmth, the undeniable aura of his love. Stretch didn’t ask, he’d never asked, and Edge could only swallow away the thickness of guilt settling sourly in his mouth that even now he couldn’t bring himself to offer. 

Instead, he gently stroked Stretch’s skull, tracing his coronal sutures, his zygomatic arch. Trailed gloved fingertips down to linger over the intricacies of his spine until he fell asleep and perhaps Edge’s obfuscation wasn’t complete untrue, because he drifted off not long after Stretch.

It was hours later that he woke, jerking awake as Stretch lurched out of his arms and the bed to scramble over to the window. Edge was already lunging out of bed himself, disoriented and sleep bleary but his magic flaring as he looked for their attackers. There were none, they were alone in their darkened bedroom with the whirr of the running fan.

“What—” Edge began, only for Stretch to disappear into a shortcut. He cursed viciously and ran for the stairs, grimacing as his leg protested, but he could already hear shouts from outside, alongside shrill, panicked shrieks. He limped awkwardly down, trying not to fall down the damn things and briefly grateful he’d been instructed to wear the splint night and day.

He tore open the sliding glass door to see the night alive with magic attacks blooming in orange and blue. For a jarring moment it was like being back in Underfell and he held back in the doorway, scanning the area for assailants, strategy boiling up in his thoughts. 

The attacks faded before Edge could even determine what the hell was going on. The yard was empty, the only sound came from the coop and the panicked gabbling of chickens, and Stretch was on his knees in the middle of the yard, utterly bare, his pale bones almost glowing in the moonlight and his shoulders shaking. 

Edge went to him, scanning around for anyone, anything, but there was nothing, only leftover attacks formed into magical bones shivering away to nothingness. He knelt awkwardly next to Stretch even as he stripped away his gloves, cautious hands skimming over him, searching for injury as he automatically ran a Check. But his tentative fingers didn’t find so much as a scrape and Stretch's HP was standing steady at five even as he started shivering in the chilly night air.

Edge stripped off his pajama shirt and hung it over Stretch’s shoulders, it was thin but better than nakedness. “What happened?” he demanded in a furious whisper, “who was here?”

“i think it was a fox, maybe,” Stretch whispered. It was not the response Edge expected and he reared back, taking in the tears that were filling Stretch’s sockets, glowing pale orange through the night. “i think it…it…”

He lifted his hands and clutched in his fist was a single glossy black feather.

_Fuck._

“Stay here,” Edge told him, low. He struggled to his feet and went to investigate the coop.

Noodle and Dumpling were still screeching their upset and the moment the door swung open, they crowded around him, seeking protection or comfort or both. He crouched down and carefully petted them both, soothing them until they settled somewhat. There was no sign of Nugget, nor any remains. He forced himself to think it, did not allow himself the luxury of hope. Grief would have to wait. 

There was no evidence in the chicken run, no feathers nor paw prints. He walked the fence line and there he found it. The soil around the coop was soft, muddied by the spring thaw, and there was a hole dug beneath the fence. That was where it must have gotten in and once it was inside the chicken run, it could easily access the coop through the same door the chickens used. The hungry bastard came in the night and—

Edge brutally shook that thought away and went back to the coop, locking both entrances. Then he went back out to Stretch, easing down to sit next to him and pulled him into his arms. Softly, he asked, “How did you know?”

Stretch leaned against him weakly, swallowed hard, “i don’t know. i just—woke up and felt the intent.”

Of course he did, Stretch was always better at sensing Intent, the same as Red and Sans. He came down here, alone, with no idea what he would find because he felt killing Intent? Edge ground his teeth. This was not the time for it, but that was going to be discussed later. Right now, Stretch was struggling to choke back tears, quivering in his arms. Edge pulled him closer, resting his cheek bone on top of Stretch’s skull. “Love, I’m so sorry.”

The words seemed to be the last brick laid upon a breaking dam. Stretch let out a wail, clinging to Edge as he wept, bright tears dripped on his bare rib cage. Edge only held him, rocking gently, his own grief rising up hot and thick in his soul. He never would have believed when he first brought the chickens home for Stretch that he could possibly become so attached to a creature that he was far more accustomed to seeing as dinner. But they’d become such loving pets, loyal and often hilarious, and sweet little Nugget with her antics, her precociousness that often reminded Edge so much of Stretch himself, was gone. 

In his arms Stretch was shaking, and it wasn’t entirely from his sorrow; the night air was cold, and even Edge was starting to shiver. 

“Come on,” Edge shifted carefully, lifting Stretch into his arms, only staggering for a second before catching his balance. Stretch made a noise of surprise that broke through the tears, both arms winding around Edge’s shoulders to clutch at him.

“you shouldn’t,” Stretch husked out, hardly more than a feeble protest.

Edge pressed a soft kiss to his skull. “I’m fine.”

His leg was only barely twinging with protest and Stretch was light. Easy to carry inside and upstairs to the bathroom, where Edge set him down to sit on the lid of the commode. He turned on the shower, letting it run as hot as he could stand, stripping away his own pajama pants and the leg splint before helping Stretch beneath the spray of water. 

Stretch stood facing the spray, the water pouring down on him as Edge soaped him gently, running the shower poof over his slender, pristine bones until suds were running thickly down, clouds of bubbly white against the ivory of his ribs and pelvis. 

He was still soap-slippery when he turned in Edge’s arms, Stretch kissing him with desperate urgency that Edge returned, his sweetness diluted with the running water. If he wanted sex as a distraction, this time Edge was more than willing to grant it. The last thing his love needed was more sorrow in a time where he’d already been suffering so much and if he wanted to lose himself in pleasure tonight, Edge would join him.

Tomorrow would be coming all too soon, and Edge was sure the cold morning light would bring far too much remembrance and grief. For now, Edge let slick hands move over him, his own moving in return, giving whatever comfort he could offer, in any way his love needed it.

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, remember the notes at the beginning of the chapter! BAON = happy endings, even if we have to wade through the angst to get there!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, this chapter includes a depiction of depression.

* * *

Despite the night of broken sleep, Edge was up at his usual hour the next day, waking before his alarm could blare. He turned it off and slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, tucking the comfortably warm blankets around his still-sleeping husband. 

He paused for a moment, looking at Stretch’s unguarded face. Last night they’d stayed in the shower together until their generous hot water tank gave up and the spray turned cold. By the time they were dry and in new pajamas, Edge was trembling with the effort of keeping them both on their feet, guiding Stretch to their bed and tucking him beneath the covers before joining him. They’d lain together in silence for some time, holding each other close before falling into what was for Edge a restless sleep. 

In the dawn light creeping around the sides of the curtains, Stretch looked drained even in sleep. Stains of deep orange were shadowed beneath his closed sockets and his face was drawn tight against whatever dreams came. Much as it pained him, Edge left him to rest, heading to their closet to dress hastily and when he left, he carefully closed the bedroom door behind him. 

Travel down the stairs was cautious but despite Edge’s sockets feeling gritty with exhaustion, his leg felt fine. He may as well be grateful for small favors, he supposed. The sun was cresting the horizon and he had things to do today.

In the backyard, the soft shoes he was currently forced to wear left the outline footprints in the damp grass as he walked over to the shed. Inside, the walls were lined with gardening tools. Bags of potting soil were stacked in a corner alongside mulch and fertilizer, everything carefully organized and in its place. On a wide shelf in one of the back corners he found what he was looking for; a long roll of landscape edging that he’d planned to use for a new garden bed. For now, it was getting called in for another use and he carried it out along with a hand trowel over to the fenced in area around the chicken run.

He could already hear Noodle and Dumpling caterwauling inside the coop. The sound of the patio door opening in the morning usually meant food and they were complaining loudly about their little door being closed. He left them for now, unwilling to be distracted from his task.

The chicken wire surrounding the run was already secured to the ground and now he simply needed to make sure that the soil itself couldn’t be dug out to make an entrance. This would be a temporary solution, as would locking the coop completely at night, but he wasn’t about to risk their remaining flock until the fox situation was taken care of. 

It would have been faster with a regular shovel, another frustration cause by his injury, but the hand trowel worked well enough in the muddy dirt. He dug a trench along the fence-line, working until it was deep enough, then he set the edging into it. Five inches of hard plastic would be a decent deterrent against digging until he could come up with something better. He took special care in the place where a hole already existed, filling the hole up with a bitter satisfaction that made his soul feel as if it were smoldering. By the time it was properly buried and fastened to the chicken wire, he was muddy and weary, taking in the scene with grim satisfaction. 

When he climbed to his feet again, his leg threatened to buckle under his weight and Edge staggered, cursing silently. He’d stupidly left his cane in the house along with his cell phone and the very thought of having to shout for help until either the neighbors investigated or Stretch woke up was humiliating enough for him to be very careful as he caught his balance. No matter, he was almost finished. He opened the fence door and went to the coop, finally unlocking the entrances, both big and small.

The chickens were all but pressed against their little door, Noodle and Dumpling tumbling out, scrambling over each other in their efforts to be first outside. They chuffed and strutted flirtatiously around his feet for a moment, but affection couldn’t compete with hunger. They made a beeline to the trough, inspecting it hopefully, unhappy clucking rising as they found it empty. 

Normally, Edge would leave it be and let Stretch be the one to feed them, but today he only scooped out the pellets, leaving them to their breakfast. He did crouch for a moment and gave them each a gentle pat.

“I’m sorry,” Edge murmured. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her. I’ll do better from now on.” Foolish, really. They couldn’t understand him and if they were grieving the loss of their friend, it didn’t show in the way they gobbled down their food. Yet, saying it aloud gave the promise more weight, a commitment to anyone who might be listening. Edge might not believe in the Angel, but childish superstition was difficult to shed.

He’d redesign the coop and the run today, Edge decided. His kitchen could wait. 

Back in the house, the first thing he did was retrieve his cane, leaning on it heavily as he went back upstairs to wash up. He didn’t linger in the shower this time, hastily sluiced away the mud and grit. His clothes went down the laundry chute and once his leg splint was back in place, he limped to the bedroom in only a towel. 

He opened the bedroom door as quietly as he could, peering inside. More light was coming in around the curtains, casting the room in shadows that fell across the shapeless lump on their bed. He couldn’t tell if Stretch moved at all while he was gone. 

Softly, he called, “Love?”

No response, but the sudden tension visible in the blankets indicated that he was awake. On a good morning, Stretch was likely to roll over and make a languid attempt to entice him back into the bed. His success rate was usually determined on whether or not Edge needed to get ready for work. At the very least, he would mumble out a good morning and try to stay awake long enough for a quick kiss before Edge headed out the door. 

That he didn’t move nor said a word spoke volumes of its own. This was not a good morning. 

Edge sighed inwardly and went to the closet to dress again before heading back downstairs. The coffee pot he turned on and let brew, then he turned on the kettle to heat. Tea wasn’t as common a beverage in their house as coffee was, but Stretch drank it often enough that the steps to making it were automatic. 

Bring the water to the optimal temperate of 180 degrees. Add the tea leaves to the pot and pour the water in, letting the leaves steep for three minutes. Pour the perfectly brewed tea into a mug and add enough honey to make his own tongue curl in disgust, thus rendering all the previous steps at producing a flavorful tea useless. 

The entire effort might be a pointless one anyway, but if all he could offer was a perfect cup of ruined tea, then Edge would do that much. He only wished he could do more.

He carried the mug upstairs, tapping lightly on the bedroom door this time before he opened it. 

“I made you tea,” Edge kept his voice low, mindful that Stretch sometimes got headaches on his bad days. He set the mug on the side table. “You can drink it if you want or you can leave it here and I’ll come back for it later.” There was no response, not a word or so much as a creaking bed spring. Edge hesitated, then added, “You don’t need to drink it if you don’t want to. Or if you want something else, I can get it. It’s no trouble.”

Nothing. There was enough light creeping around the curtains for him to see that Stretch was buried into the covers, only the top of his skull visible. Edge closed his sockets briefly and took a long, slow breath. Completely non-verbal was a very bad sign, one that hadn’t happened in a long time, far before Stretch started with his therapy. 

But today was also a very bad day, he’d known it would be, and Edge refused to allow even the beginnings of fear to take hold. Stretch needed time to fight his way out of the black cloud of his depression and Edge was going to make sure he got it. 

He still faltered, torn between asking questions that might make Stretch feel worse as he couldn’t answer them right now or taking liberties that he wasn’t sure would be welcome. What Stretch wanted or needed in these times could vary by the minute. 

At last, he settled on, “I’m going back downstairs for now. I’ll come back in an hour to check on you.”

Before he could turn away, a skeletal hand slipped out from beneath the blankets and caught his sleeve. It wasn’t words but he understood perfectly. 

_Don’t leave yet._

Edge sat on the side of the bed and set a hand gingerly on Stretch’s back, rubbing his rib cage and spine gently through the layers of blankets. 

“It’s all right,” he said softly. He kept his touch light, soothing. “You don’t need to say anything.” If Stretch didn’t feel up to speaking, that was fine. “Take today, take two days. Take all the time you need. If you need anything else, I’m here.”

The hand gripping his sleeve slowly let go and disappeared back beneath the blanket. Edge nodded, “All right, I understand. I’ll leave you be for now.”

He took a moment to make sure Stretch’s phone was on the bedside table and plugged in, took a small bottle of painkillers from the table drawer and set them on the nightstand along with a glass of water he retrieved from the bathroom. Small things that Stretch might want and couldn’t ask for right now. 

It might be overstepping, but he leaned in to brush a featherlight kiss on the top of Stretch’s skull, relieved when he didn’t flinch away. Then he left before he gave in to the clamoring urge to pull Stretch into his arms, to hold him tightly as if his embrace could chase his demons away. He knew better, knew that Stretch did not respond well to having his autonomy taken away even if his coping mechanisms didn’t always strictly help. 

That didn’t keep the urge from rising, demanding that he do something, and so Edge left before he gave in to it, making his slow way back downstairs. 

It was time to start planning, Edge always handled this better when he had a strategy. If Stretch wasn’t improved tomorrow, he would contact Asgore and request a delay in his return to the Embassy. He could keep working from home for now. That might well add to Stretch’s guilt, but he wasn’t about to leave his husband alone here in this house when he was like this. 

In the meantime, he would work on redesigning the chicken coop. His original model was more for the aesthetic and to make sure the chickens stayed in. The first two concepts still stood, only now he needed to make allowances for intruders from outside the fence. It needed to be sturdy, safe, and also something that Stretch would love. Something to make him smile.

_Please, let him smile._

Edge sat down at the coffee table with his pencils and graph paper to begin. 

By the time he’d drawn up a basic draft, a couple hours had gone by and his spine was beginning to protest being hunched over while he sketched intently. Edge climbed to his feet, stretching and groaning luxuriously as his joints popped, a good sort of pain. Enough time had passed that he could check on Stretch again without feeling as if he were hovering and he went back upstairs, lightly knocking as a warning before going inside. 

The only real difference was the shifting light from the windows. The blankets were pulled in tighter around Stretch, less a covering and more a cocoon. A glance inside the mug showed the tea was cold and untouched. But the water glass was moved and so was the bottle of painkillers, and Edge clung to that small sign. Otherwise, there was little changed, and he couldn’t see Stretch’s face, not so much as a glimmer of his eye lights shining through the blankets. 

He picked up the mug. Leaving it would probably only make Stretch feel guilty and he hardly needed an extra serving of misery today. Perhaps he’d bring up a glass of juice later, apple juice on ice, one of Stretch’s favorites even if Edge shuddered to think of watering down juice that way. Stretch liked it, said that apple juice was better when it was as cold as possible, and with one of those ridiculous curling straws that he liked, yes, he would bring that up later with a mug of warm broth—

He was so caught up in the tangle of his own thoughts that he jerked when Stretch spoke, his hoarse voice startlingly loud in the quiet room. 

“babe?” The word was hardly more than a raspy whisper. “i’ll try…” Stretch’s voice cracked, and he swallowed audibly before started again, “i’ll get up tomorrow. promise.”

Edge closed his sockets. His own soul was heavy in his chest, on the verge of manifesting in an involuntary response to his aching need to _help_. He suppressed it firmly and kept his voice even and untroubled as he said, “You don’t need to promise me, love. Take all the time you need.”

The blankets shifted, Stretch’s skull bobbing in a nod and that was it. Much as he hated leaving his love alone here like this, there was nothing to be done. Not until Stretch found his way out of the Möbius strip of his anxiety and depression.

All Edge could do was be here for him and wait. 

He went back downstairs and to the kitchen, pouring out the cold tea and rinsing the mug mechanically. A search of the freezer revealed a container of broth, the date on the top in his own crisp handwriting was from two months ago. It was tempting to make fresh and Edge resisted. This would be faster and he wanted to save his energy. Just in case Stretch needed anything from him, anything at all so that Edge wouldn’t feel so… 

Helpless. That described perfectly how Edge had felt for the past little while with painful accuracy. Helpless to help Stretch, to protect him, to save him from the world or himself. Inaction did not sit well with him; in Underfell, Edge worked to join the guard to better protect the people of Snowdin, on the surface he worked with the Embassy, came up with strategies for the betterment of Monsters living amongst Humans. Those methods wouldn’t work with Stretch, he wasn’t a puzzle or a plan, and strategies fell apart when applied to the unpredictable, a living, breathing person.

There was a sudden knock at the door and Edge frowned, cursing silently and hurrying to see who it was. If Stretch were sleeping, he didn’t want him to wake and if he wasn’t, the very idea of guests might ruin whatever progress he’d made in his own head. Edge yanked open the door, ready to tell whoever it was to come back another day.

Only to find one of the very last Monsters he’d expected to see standing on his doorstep. 

Bruno was large even for a Monster, towering over Edge and his curling horns added another several inches on top of it. He was the perfect example of what Humans might picture as a Monster. Covered in short, dark fur, with fangs protruding from the sides of his mouth and large hands tipped with claws. He was also nattily dressed in one of his own creations, a three-piece suit, complete with a pocket watch chain and a pair of shoes modified to allow his clawed toes to poke out, topped with spats. 

More than once Bruno bemoaned to Edge that they’d come to the surface far too late and all the very best in fashion had already been abandoned in the Human world while Edge nodded in pained agreement. His designs often added past trends to current ones in a way that was aesthetically pleasing to Monsters and Humans alike. It kept him very busy and as far as Edge knew, he generally did not make house calls. And yet here he was, garment bags in hand. 

“Ah, good afternoon!” Bruno swept off his hat and bowed deeply. 

“Good afternoon,” Edge replied cautiously, “Do you mind if we speak outside? Stretch isn’t feeling well, and I don’t want to wake him.”

“Of course, of course!” Bruno’s whispers were much like Papyrus’s, pitched only slightly below his already booming voice. “It is a lovely spring day, we can speak out here!”

Edge stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He winced inwardly to see the bags in Bruno’s hands; he’d meant to call the tailor yesterday and with everything going on, he’d forgotten. “You’ll have to forgive me, it slipped my mind to contact you.” He gestured to his leg, still firmly secured in velcro and fiberglass. “As it turns out, I can wear the splint over my clothing, so I don't need any trousers adjusted.”

“This is good because I did not do that,” Bruno said firmly. “An attempt was made and it looked horrible. It could not be allowed.”

He should have guessed. “Then what can I do for you?”

“I am so glad you asked. I have brought what your husband ordered!” Bruno held up one of the bags triumphantly. 

Despite the misery and uncertainty of the morning, Edge found his curiosity roused along with his wariness. “My husband. Ordered clothes for me.”

“But of course!” Bruno leaned in with a conspiratorial wink, “It is one of my creations, but he seemed quite interested in it!”

If wearing it would bring Stretch even a scrap of joy, Edge wouldn’t care if it was a clown suit. “Show me.”

With the flourish of a true salesman, Bruno unzipped the bag and whisked the clothing out, holding it up with arrogant grandeur. 

That…was not what Edge expected. He’d thought perhaps something similar to Stretch’s clothing from his ~~abduction~~ visit to Bruno’s shop. Khakis and a button-up perhaps, or a fine sweater. Maybe even something in leather, Bruno was not snobbish when it came to true fashion. 

This was something else. The suitcoat was a deep black, the cut of the jacket higher than he’d normally wear and the sleeves were embellished with unusual square buttons, the cuffs cut on the diagonal instead of straight across. There was a vest to match and several ties in a variety of colors hung neatly over one shoulder. That he took in with a cursory inspection. 

It was the lower half of the garment that had his attention. A kilt, he recognized, in a pattern of green and blue with narrow red and white intersecting lines. Subdued and tasteful, a different sort of elegance than he normally chose. Edge slipped off a glove and cautiously fingered the material, testing the fineness of the cloth. He was not at all surprised at the quality he found, that at least wasn’t surprising. That it was made for him at all, however— 

“Stretch chose this?” Edge murmured.

“Ah! He chose the concept, but this he has not yet seen.” There was a certain predatory gleam in Bruno’s eye. “You like it.”

“I do,” Edge admitted. There was no point in prevarication, Bruno had hooked his claws into Edge’s wallet long before he and Stretch were past the stage of constant bickering. 

“Excellent!” Bruno said cheerily. He slipped it back into garment bag, fussily arranging it to prevent any snags from the zipper and now it was the other bags in his hand that took hold of Edge’s curiosity. 

“What are those then if they aren’t trousers?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t regret the answer. 

“I also brought more clothes for Stretch,” Bruno said slyly. He tugged down the zipper on one bag, offering a glimpse of a creamy material trimmed with a rich blue that would be lovely coupled with Stretch’s magic. “His other outfit turned out so nicely that I thought to make more.” 

Of course. That sort of cutthroat salesmanship would have served Bruno well in Underfell, Edge thought with a certain amused sourness. But he hesitated over accepting any new clothing. He never wanted Stretch to feel like he was trying to change him and yet, the memory of that last outfit, the way those trousers delectably fit against his slim bones. If Stretch needed wear something better than his normal track pants and hoodies, Edge’s clothes served for most things, and yet, they weren’t _made_ for him like these would be, fitting him like a well-loved glove.

Bruno was waiting patiently, but there was no mistaking his knowing expression. A clotheshound always knew another of their kind .

"Add them to the order," Edge sighed. He could store them downstairs in the laundry room for now. If he left them in the bags, Stretch would assume they were his dry cleaning and perhaps someday, when the timing was better, he could ask? If that time never came, he would only be out the money, even if the sum on the bill that Bruno handed over made him wince slightly. 

He took the bags that Bruno handed over without looking, though temptation was furiously strong. Better not to torment himself right now, he didn’t need the distraction. 

“Thank you for your patronage,” Bruno called cheerily as he made his plodding way down the walkway. “Tell Stretch I hope he feels better soon!”

“You’re welcome and I will,” Edge replied, a touch dryly. If nothing else, he owed Bruno for the distraction, their brief conversation left him feeling calmer, settled. He went back inside and downstairs and he’d barely gotten the bags hung up in the laundry room when his phone buzzed. A quick glance showed the text was from his brother and Edge frowned, opening it. 

There was nothing but an address for here in New New Home and the sharp swell of his annoyance far outstripped his brother’s action, but today, Red’s cryptic nature was more than a little unwelcome. 

He sent a curt message back, _I am in no mood for a scavenger hunt._

A return text came swiftly. _trust me._

Edge stared at those two words, unblinking. It was something Red said often, carelessly tossing the words out with a smirk and a wink, all sly insinuation and mocking. And yet at the end of it all, as much as Red infuriated him and antagonized him, he did. Edge did trust his brother. 

Edge left the message unanswered, allowing himself that much petulance, and made his way back upstairs. He’d check on Stretch once more and then go see whatever it was his brother wanted to show him. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long and wouldn’t end with any other problems to weigh on him. Edge had more than enough on his plate right now.

* * *

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Before Edge was willing to leave the house on what was likely a fool’s errand, he went back upstairs to peek in on Stretch. It was difficult to tell what was going on beneath the tangle of the blankets, but he seemed to be more relaxed from his tight, fetal curl of earlier. Probably sleeping and that was good. 

Back in Underfell, his brother’s supposed laziness used to drive him mad, but coming to the surface world brought a few humbling realizations. Depression was exhausting and so was low HP, and he no longer questioned the need for plenty of rest from any of those he cared about.

A closer inspection showed the blankets rising and falling in even rhythm, deep, slow breaths and Edge let out a near-silent, relieved sigh of his own, hoping that Stretch came out of the other side of sleep at least a little improved. 

Edge hesitated at the bedside, wondering if he should leave a note. He decided against it. Stretch had his phone, he could text if he needed anything. Enough dithering about, whatever it was that Red was dragging him out of the house for must be at least a little important, the cameras Edge knew were hidden outside their house surely showed him what happened last night and—

Edge went stock-still on his way out the bedroom door, his hand still on the doorknob as suspicion along with sudden anger welled up in his soul. He closed the door with care and with slow deliberation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to send a curt text back to his brother, _Tell me what this is about._

No response and just as he was about to shove his phone back into his pocket came, _awful slow these days, bro. hurry up and you can see for yourself._

His phone creaked in his hand and Edge forcibly loosened his grip, shoving it back into his pocket before he could give in to the childish urge to throw it against a wall. It wouldn’t change a thing except give him the extra headache of being without a phone until he could get a replacement. Red would have his fun and there wasn’t an angry text message in existence that would change that. There was only one way for his niggling suspicions to be confirmed and that was to play the game. 

But he would have a thing or three to say once they were done, of that he was certain. Edge snagged his keys on the way out the door and headed out to his car. 

The address Red sent him wasn’t more than a ten-minute drive to the mostly abandoned neighborhoods of Old New Home. As he pulled up to the abandoned lot, Red stepped out of a shortcut on the curb, hands in his pockets and his semi-permanent grin wide. 

It set Edge’s emotions into a roiling conflict. On one hand, he was very annoyed with his brother, verging on furious if this turned out the way he suspected, and on the other…

On the other, the last time he’d seen his brother, it had started with him lying on Edge’s kitchen floor, bleeding out in his arms, and ended with Sans carrying him away. He looked tired, but that was more normal than not with Red. 

Interesting to note that he was not wearing a matching collar to Sans, which meant either Sans had no idea what a single collar relationship symbolized, or he knew all too well and Edge wasn’t taking that thought any further. Brotherly concern was one thing, but he was not interesting in knowing the minute details of their relationship, so long as they were happy. 

Speaking of happiness, Red’s grin was practically gleeful as Edge got out of the car. “awful slow, there, bro. gimp leg holding you back?”

“Shut up,” Edge said automatically, even as he limped over with cane in hand, “and start telling me why you dragged me out here.”

The mocking pout was all the more disturbing for being on Red’s face. “what, no hug?”

“I’d attempt it to prove a point,” Edge told him dryly, “but I have enough injuries without you literally stabbing me in the back. What. Do. You. Want.”

Red only shook his head, sighing as if with deep disappointment, ah, he was in a cheerful mood, wasn’t he. “all those years of you harping on manners and i ain’t even getting a how’s it going, how you been feeling, looking a lot better without all your marrow leakin’ out. no love at all, boss?”

If he wanted to play, Edge did still remember the rules. “Very well. How is Sans doing? He looked well when he brought me your report the other day. Is he taking care of any more of your work?”

That smile slipped a fraction. “he’s doin’ fine.”

Edge only looked at him, brow bone raised. If Red wasn’t going to discuss the elephant in the room, Edge would be more than happy to allow it to step on his foot. “I’m only asking as the Director of Operations, literally your boss, as you so enjoy pointing out. I’m sure you understand that it’s important for me to know what work my people are handling. In case there are any _liabilities.”_

That wide grin turned faintly wry, Red’s crimson eye lights gleaming his amusement. “yeah, fuck you, _boss._ he’s doin’ real good. decided for some dumbass reason he needs to move in. stupid fucking cat is having a fit.”

“Ah, yes, fuck you, only the very best comeback in your arsenal for me, I’m sure. And I can’t even begin to imagine why he’d want to move into that garbage pit you call a home.” Edge crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at his brother. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Now, where is she?”

Red barked out a laugh. “oh, very good, little brother, already figured it out, didja.”

“Your puzzles haven’t improved since Junior Jumble, it was not that difficult.”

“not for you.” As far as he was out of his childhood years, hearing that rare tinge of pride in his brother’s voice still made him want to preen. Edge squashed the urge, following as Red jerked his head towards overgrown field behind him. “come on.”

The terrain would have been aggravating even with two perfectly working legs. Having one that sent up threatening warning twinges with every step made it all the worse and the soil was loose and muddy, hard for feet and the tip of his cane. Grimly, Edge followed his brother through the hip-deep weeds, taking sour enjoyment in the fact that they were nearly above his brother’s head. 

“she was a bitch and a half to find, i tell you what,” Red said conversationally, shoving his way through the vegetation. Edge supposed he should be grateful Red hadn’t either gone all-out jungle trekking and brought a machete or worse, offered to shortcut them, if only to force Edge to refuse. The very thought of taking one of Red’s shortcuts made his gorge rise. His brother tromped on obliviously, or at least giving a remarkable appearance of it, “this little gal has some tricks. little chickie crossed a lotta roads to get here.”

“Care to explain how you even knew how to look for her?” Edge asked sardonically and it was just as well Red wasn’t looking at him, because Edge couldn’t hide his surprise when he answered. 

“sure. i was the reason she was missing to begin with.”

Edge stopped, _“What?_ What the fuck does that mean?!”

“keep your hair on, you want me to explain or not?” Red kept moving and after a moment, Edge followed him, hands clenched into painful fists to keep from reaching out and strangling him. All that would do was waste time and amuse Red all the more, and Edge was trying to keep his contributions to his brother’s sense of humor at a minimum. “motion sensor went off at your place in the wee hours last night.”

“Motion sensors that you are not supposed to have.”

“huh, strange thing,” Red mused aloud, “don’t remember anyone sayin’ i couldn’t.”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“anywho, went over to check it out.” He paused, swearing under his breath as he picked several dried-up thistles from his jacket without even bothering to flick any in Edge’s direction and utterly ignoring Edge’s visibly simmering impatience. “and i saw some kinda animal with too much fur and not enough feathers to be in your coop. your little lady was outside in the fenced area and close to bein’ a midnight snack. so i scooped her up, but before i could deal with the toothy lil’ problem, your liability came swooping in like a fucking bare-ass bat out of hell, firing bones every which way. i shortcutted out before he could turn me into a kabob. didn’t really mean to take her along for the ride, but i didn’t exactly have a wide selection of options.” Red craned his head to look over his shoulder slyly, “’least the view wasn’t bad. he musta felt me getting ready to clean house and hightailed it down. honey bun has pretty good reaction time. better'n yours."

Edge ignored that. “And you didn’t bring her back afterward because?

Red only shrugged. “couldn’t. she weaseled her way loose the second we hit grass again and took off. spent half the night and all morning lookin’ for the little fucker. once i figured out where she was holed up, i messaged you.”

Edge exhaled slowly, struggling with his temper. “And why didn’t you simply tell me all this earlier? Stretch is sitting at home mourning her and you—"

“and if it turned out she got hit by a car or some shit?” Red countered sharply, “really wanted to go there? figured it’d be better to make sure she had her feathers intact before i got his hopes all up.”

That was surprisingly valid as excuses went, and yet, “You could have told me! At the very least I could have helped you search!”

“think so, little brother?” Red looked at him with enough scorn that Edge had to suppress a flinch, “or you think maybe you woulda told stretch, try and cheer him up a bit? i wanted you to look her over, make sure she's all right first, but hey, you go on and call him right now if that’s what you think is better.”

Edge ground his teeth and said nothing. All the arguing in the world couldn’t make Red understand that this might have been the last thin, straw that broke the back between Stretch and a very dark day. His brother coped with his issues in much different ways, in Edge’s experience usually copious amounts of alcohol. Perhaps Sans would have been able to explain it better. Or perhaps he would have already given in and slapped Red upside the head, it was a fair chance either way. 

They kept up through the tall grass. It shushed around them in the light breeze, that rustle the only sound, surrounding them, and his car growing small and distant behind them. Red was panting when they came to a small clearing, leaning over with his hands braced on his knees as he panted out, “here we are.”

There, sitting happily in a trodden down area of grass, was Nugget. She cackled out a greeting, loud in the muffling hush of the grass, but concerningly she didn’t move when normally she would be dancing flirtatiously around Edge’s legs. 

“Is she hurt?” Edge demanded. He reached for her, ready to carry her back to the car and straight to a veterinarian. 

Red scratched at the back of his skull, “see, that’s the thing—”

Before Edge could pick her up, she let out a warning screech and tried to peck at his hands. He snatched them back, staring down at her in bemused shock. 

“—she seems to be in a mood of some sort,” Red finished, “can’t figure it out, she ain’t bleeding and she hadta walk all the way over here on her own. i woulda brought her back to your place when i found her, but she was pretty insistent on stayin’ right there.”

Baffled, Edge ran a Check on her, ignoring how ridiculous it seemed to do on a chicken. Her HP was fine, and he thought it better not to question why she had a LV of 2. “She doesn’t seem hurt.”

He reached out again cautiously, ignoring her pinching little beak attacks against his gloves, and lifted her up. Beneath her, the grass was torn up and arranged into a sort of nest and inside it—

Red crouched down to peer into it, mouth twisting crookedly. “huh. where you figure she got the golf balls?”

“I have no idea.” Standing in a field questioning the intentions of a chicken was not where Edge ever expected to find himself. 

Red reached in and pinched a small, white object between two sharpened fingertips, lifting it up from the pile to inspect it despite Nugget's increasingly loud squalls of betrayal. “there’s one egg, anyway. least she’s still layin’ for you.”

Tucking Nugget against his side to stop her squirms, Edge only stared at it, perplexed, and said slowly, “That isn’t one of her eggs. Nugget’s eggs are a pale green.”

“huh.” Red set it back gently into the pile of grass and golf balls, and scrubbed hand over his face. “lemme get this straight. your little mini liability found a random egg in a pile of golf balls and decided to settle in and play momma? that’s what we think’s happenin’ here?”

“Would you like me consult my crystal ball? I don’t speak chicken and you’re the one whose been spying on them.” Nugget was getting increasingly difficult to hold and her forlorn and angry cries were either too heartrending or too annoying for Red to ignore. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

“hang on to the little shit,” Red ordered, even as he stepped sideways into a shortcut. Leaving Edge alone in the tall grass with an increasingly distraught chicken.

“Hush, hush, come on now,” Edge soothed, gently petting what he could reach of her feathers. Her loud clucks dissolved into unhappy coos, looking up at Edge with mournfully beady little eyes. How was this his life, Edge wondered, with weary amusement, catering to the whims of a bird that once he would have seen more as lunch than a pet. He gave her a gentle scritch underneath the chin and she crooned softly, her small eyes closing as she finally settled.

Only to squawk loudly as Red abruptly reappeared, “here we go.”

In his hands was a hanging basket with a spray of flowers only just beginning to bloom from the leafy tendrils. It was rather lovely, definitely expensive, and absolutely did not belong to Red.

“Where did you get that?” Edge demanded.

Red shrugged, “only thing that matters is they didn’t see me.” He dumped the flowers out onto the ground in a sad splatter of leaves and potting soil, then crouched down and began filling it with grass. “c’mon, the joke’s getting’ old and the crowd’s restless, let’s get the show on the road.”

Edge made a mental note to have a much nicer replacement sent discreetly to anyone who complained about a missing floral arrangement and started to crouch down to help. Only for his brother to brusquely wave him back. 

“hold the fucking chicken, i got this,” Red snapped. He didn’t look up at Edge, stuffing grass into the basket furiously. “you been standing long enough, last thing you need is to get down here and not be able to get back up. bet that leg is singing an ava maria by now.”

Slowly, Edge straightened, watching silently as Red filled the basket and he didn’t protest his leg was fine, didn’t try to reassure him, only let him make a messy little nest in the basket. He added the golf balls, nestling them into the grass, then hesitated over the egg, finally giving Edge a side eye. “uh. so do we take it or leave it?”

“Take it,” Edge decided. “Perhaps Stretch can do some research and find out what kind of egg it is.” 

“it’s your funeral, don’t blame me if you end up with pet crocodile or some shit.”

“Nonsense, crocodiles aren’t native to Ebott. Snakes, however—” He trailed off as Nugget renewed her struggles and leaned down to set her in the basket. She settled immediately, fluffing out her feathers and nestling in. “I suppose that’s that.”

“yep, take ‘er home.” Red stood and stretched, both hands pressed into the small of his back as the joints popped. “by the way, i saw you doing work on the coop. ain’t a bad idea, but you don’t have a fox problem, boss.” His brother straightened and tucked his hands into his pockets, his grin colder, sharper, and in that moment, he could have stepped dusty and damaged directly from Underfell. “’least not anymore.”

He was gone before Edge could even open his mouth to ask. 

He was alone again in the tall grass with nothing but a contented chicken for company and his car a painfully long walk away, particularly when lugging said chicken along. 

“Thank you, brother,” Edge said, with an equal measure of sincerity and sarcasm. There was nothing for it. Edge heaved up the basket in his free hand and started to struggle his way back through the field. 

Time to head home. Home, yes, home, where Stretch was hopefully still asleep, and Edge could only hope that seeing Nugget would shake at least a little of his depression loose. The thought of even a faint smile from his love was enough to make the growing ache in his leg well worth it. 

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

By the time Edge made his way back to the car and was headed for home, Red’s prediction about his leg singing was coming true, going from an enthusiastic Ave Maria to operatic scales in no time. He was long past the doctor’s instruction of only spending two hours at a time standing and the twinges of pain were running into a constant throb. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat was somewhat better. It took his weight off his aching limb and driving at idling speed kept him from having to press too often on the brake or gas pedal. Even so, when he pulled into his own driveway, Edge was sweating through his shirt and working at breathing through the discomfort. Time to get this finished and get his leg up, because re-injuring it was not going to help Stretch’s depression in the slightest. 

Next to him, Nugget’s basket was carefully buckled into the passenger seat and he noted wryly that at least one of them was enjoying the journey. She’d kept up a stream of warbling chatter the entire drive that was rather reminiscent of her owner. 

“All right, time to get you back home,” Edge announced. He reached over to unbuckle the seat belt, guiding it back against the seat since he didn’t trust this comedy of errors not to continue by knocking the poor creature out with a badly timed buckle retraction. “I’m sure Noodle and Dumpling will be happy to see you.” 

And if they weren’t, Stretch certainly would. He hoped.

Edge took a steadying breath and climbed out of the car, grimacing as renewed pain shot up to his femur. Damn the blasted thing, anyway, he was going to have to ice the cartilage for a while and he certainly wasn’t going to be up to making anything for dinner. Asking Stretch was out of the question, which meant he might need to call for reinforcements. 

Even the idea of asking anyone for help, particularly in the kitchen, made Edge’s hackles rise, but better that than having Stretch see him hurting or worse, having to go back to the doctor and admit that a mere two days after having his cast removed, he was already disobeying their instruction.

Blue would probably be the best option and of course he was certain to be so incredibly pleased about the situation…Edge cut the bitter thought off hard, dismissing it firmly as unworthy. Whatever frictions existed between him and Blue, they were still friends, and all Blue ever wanted was for his brother to be healthy and happy. Whatever issues he’d had with their relationship, he’d never tried to interfere or dissuade Stretch from it. It would be petty to hold his concern against him, even if he could occasionally be aggravating and normally Edge wouldn’t even indulge the thought. Today, though, ah, today he was tired from his broken sleep the night before, riled by his brother, aggrieved by his aching leg, and worried about his husband. If his control was running a little ragged, today of all days it could be excused. 

Nugget flapped her wings, resettling into the basket and startling Edge from his thoughts. He shook his head, opening the passenger door to retrieve poultry and basket alike. He’d deal with dinner when the time came, for now he had a recalcitrant chicken to return home. 

The side gate was a shorter path than through the house and Edge limped through it, leaning heavily on his cane as he went to the coop. 

To his dismay, Noodle and Dumpling did not come running out to greet him when he opened the fence. Edge frowned, setting the basket inside the gate and went to check the coop doors. He’d left them unfastened that morning, but the coop itself was empty, no eager chickens to greet him while demanding pets and treats.

“Stretch,” Edge said aloud, all his worries coalescing into a hard ball in his chest as he grabbed up Nugget again and headed for the house. He left Nugget in her basket just inside the sliding glass door, trusting that she wouldn’t wander from her makeshift nest or her ‘eggs’.

The stairs were somewhat painful to navigate but worse was finding their bedroom empty, the covers thrown carelessly back. So was the bathroom, the guest room, and panic was starting to take hold when Edge fairly stumbled back down the stairs, half-ready to call his brother and demand he locate his husband, where would he have gone—

A suspiciously chicken-y sound coming through the kitchen door derailed his fears. Edge paused and listened closer, and yes, that was a loud caw coming from his kitchen, along with the skitter of scaly feet.

His relief was dizzying, leaving him leaning weakly on his cane. Edge sighed inwardly and went to the door, carefully pushing it open. 

The pair from the Embassy team had done a decent job at cleaning away most of the detritus of Red’s ‘accident’ from the kitchen. They’d cleared away the broken table and chairs, cleaned up the worst of the paint, and left his kitchen if not as it was then at least usable until they had a chance to remodel it.

There by the center island was Noodle, curiously inspecting the tiles and Dumpling was on the other side, pecking lightly at the paint-dappled cupboards with great interest. Their claws clicking on the hard floor as they scampered around, inspecting their temporary quarters. In one corner was Stretch, sitting curled up where their dining room table used to be. He was dressed somewhat haphazardly, his dirty feet bare beneath the legs of his track pants and swaddled into an elderly sweatshirt washed to a faded pastel. He didn’t look up at Edge, only sat watching the chickens, a lit cigarette dangling from between two fingers. As relieving as it was to see him out of bed, Edge couldn’t help but see the stains of exhausted orange beneath his sockets were deep, an advertisement of a sleepless night followed by a restless day.

Edge stepped in further, the rubber tip of his cane squeaking against the tile and only then did Stretch look up, his pale eye lights skittering nervously back and forth between Edge’s and the floor. A cylinder of ash dropped unnoticed from the tip of his cigarette, joining a scattering already on the tile and Stretch swallowed convulsively, ducking his head as he muttered out, “i know, i know they can't stay, but i thought, just for today maybe, they can stay here and be safe, right? i thought it would be okay for one day, please don't be mad—" 

“Love, I'm not angry, not at all,” Edge told him softly. The words went unheard, Stretch rambling on desperately. 

“…and it's only for today and maybe some of tomorrow, i know they have to go back out, but i couldn’t stop thinking about it, i couldn’t, and i’m not fucking up again, i can’t, not today—”

“Papyrus,” Edge said, sharply, and that cut through his babble. His head jerked up, eye lights too-wide and diffused. “You didn’t fuck up the first time, listen to me—”

“i know that!” Stretch burst out. He curled up tighter, drawing his legs up, his face pressed into his upraised knees and his arms wrapped around his skull, muffling his words. “i know, there was nothing i could have done, what even could i? i’m not a fucking fox hunter, i didn’t know. my soul knows it so why does my head keep telling me i’m wrong? why won’t my head shut up, why does it always have to tell me i’m a bad friend, a bad brother, i’m awful, why am i so awful?”

Stretch’s shoulders shook, his voice going thick and wet with tears and the sound of it was ripping at Edge’s own soul like jagged claws. All right, then, if Stretch wasn’t going to let him talk, then drastic measures might be best. 

Edge spun around and left the kitchen, even if his soul protested vehemently at leaving his husband weeping alone. It was a matter of moments to snatch up the chicken-filled basket and bring it in, hauling it grimly despite the warning throb in his leg. Right back through the swinging door to plop the entire thing right in front of Stretch’s bare toes.

That blasted cigarette of his was dangerously close to burning a hole in his sweatshirt, but Nugget’s happy coos made Stretch jerk upright, staring disbelievingly at the small black chicken who only tilted her head inquisitively as if to ask what was the big deal, here she was, ready to join the party.

“oh,” Stretch mumbled. The still smoldering cigarette fell unnoticed from his fingers, shedding ash as it rolled across the tile. Edge hastily retrieved it and flicked it into the sink. He turned back just as Stretch reached out cautiously, disbelieving, settling his bare hand on Nugget’s back before Edge could call out a belated warning. But perhaps Nugget was growing more accustomed to returning to society or perhaps she simply trusted Stretch more to not lift her away from her so-called eggs. She chirruped contentedly, leaning into his touch as he gasped, sockets going wide. “she…how did…you…”

“It seems she was better equipped to defend herself against the fox than we thought,” Edge told him. It seemed better to leave Red’s interference out, at least for now and likely forever. “She ran off and was nesting out in Old New Home.”

“you brought her back to me,” Stretch whispered, in pained wonderment. A fresh wash of tears fell from his sockets, pale orange trickling down, gathering to drip from his chin. 

“Love, don’t—" Edge tried. He started to sit and nearly fell in his attempt, luckily unnoticed as his leg finally gave out, and Stretch only sagged into his arms, his hand still resting on Nugget’s soft feathers. 

“you found her,” Stretch choked out. He buried his face into Edge’s shirt, hot tears quickly soaking through the thin cloth. “you found…” Then, to Edge’s dismay, he shuddered out, “i’m so sorry. you shouldn’t’ve had to, she’s my responsibility, i should’ve gone looking instead of making an ass out of me assuming. sorry, i’m sorry—” He didn’t resist as Edge pulled him closer, only leaned against him and kept up that whispered litany, “sorry, should’ve and didn’t. just feels like one more thing i failed at.”

Edge tightened his grip and gave Stretch a little shake, almost rough as he said fiercely, “You didn’t fail at anything, certainly not this.”

“but—"

“No. Why do you expect so much from yourself?” Edge demanded softly and he wasn’t surprised to not get an answer. “I don’t know what’s going on in that troublesome mind of yours, but I’m telling you, it’s wrong. You have a great deal on your plate just as the others do and we both know people have been keeping certain things from us because I am supposed to be convalescing and you are supposed to be helping me. So, whatever is bothering you, we can discuss it if you want or not discuss it if you don’t, but you haven’t failed at anything, do you understand me?” 

Stretch nodded, but his grip on Edge was still too tight, knuckles flexing convulsively. He whispered into Edge’s shirt, his voice was barely audible. “sometimes i feel like your life would be a lot easier without me.”

Simply hearing those words forced Edge to close his sockets, breathing through the roil of frustration that lit hotly in his soul. Stretch needed his understanding, not his temper, his internal demons were doubt, not of Edge, but of himself. The automatic answer was, ‘of course it wouldn’t.’ But that would be disingenuous, a lie of the kind told to children to soothe their hurts. Stretch was not a child and he would not be fooled by pat answers. 

Instead, Edge took the time to consider it. Recalled his life before Stretch, the long days of work at the Embassy and then evenings at the Y. His brother stopping in for aggravation and dinner as Edge slowly learned more about cooking than Underfell could ever teach him. Movie nights and gardening days, uncomplicated pleasures coupled with satisfying work. 

“That’s true, it might be easier,” Edge conceded. He held on tighter when Stretch stiffened, trying to pull away. “But it certainly wouldn’t be better. Plenty of things could be easier, I could stay here in this house, collecting my stipend and have my groceries delivered. I could tend my garden and might never need to go out again. That would be easier, if easy was all I wanted.” Gently, he slipped two gloved fingers beneath Stretch’s chin, urging him to look up. He met that teary gaze with his own steady one as he said, “Easy isn’t happy, love, and nothing has ever made me happier than being with you.”

Because he’d learned that pleasures were better with complications, when his gardening was interrupted by unexpected hugs, when his dinners were filled with excited chatter instead of silence or sarcasm. That he looked forward to leaving work when there was someone to come home to, and that stars were lovelier when seen through the lens of Stretch’s sight. 

Stretch was blinking too hard, sniffling accusingly, “you sap.”

Just like that, the pained tension in him eased and Edge let out a chuff of laughter, shaking his head.

He drew Stretch back down to his chest and reached over to take Stretch’s hand in his own, his thumb skimming over slender fingers. Stretch was wearing one of his silicon rings, not the metal band with precious stones that Edge gave him when he pledged to love and cherish him, but the simpler one given for practical reasons, in bright day-glo colors to make him smile. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Some time ago my brother told me I could be happy if only I wanted to. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. You helped me understand and the only place I ever want to be is with you. You can’t fail at that, you can’t fuck that up, so long as you’re here, with me. All right?”

“yeah, okay,” Stretch sighed out. He snuggled in closer and if his voice was still tremulous, his words were stronger, “can we stay here a little longer?”

“Of course.” Edge shifted until he was leaning against the wall, pulling Stretch to lay in between his legs and holding him tightly against his chest, over the soft pulse of his soul. 

The kitchen floor was designed for easy cleanup and aesthetic, not for sitting and his tailbone was already protesting. He needed to ice his aching leg, the chickens needed to be shut back into their coop, and they could both use a real nap before figuring out what to do for dinner. 

But that could all wait, just a little longer. 

-finis


End file.
